


That Darn Cat

by kikowest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cat/Human Hybrids, Cats, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harm to Children, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Human turned Cat, Humor, Hunters & Hunting, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Original Character, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikowest/pseuds/kikowest
Summary: When Sam and Dean are turned into harmless house-cats during a hunt, you must find the witch and find a way to turn them back to their human forms before they're doomed to be furry felines forever.





	1. The Tabby, the Witch, and the Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Original posted to Tumblr in September 2014 for the image prompt: "Imagine Team Free Will Were Turned Into Cats". Probably a four part saga, but never finished. Posted to archive, but I'd like to revisit this in the future. Enjoy!

It wasn't that I minded grunt work, it was that it had to be the fifth time I'd been sent to the In-n-Out that day. Once for Twinkies, twice because "Sam didn't get the right chips (goddamn it)!," and twice more for Tylenol because we were really no closer to flushing this witch out than we had been a week ago. It was annoying. The witch was annoying, the In-n-Out was annoying, my own lack of usefulness was annoying. I had two six-packs of beer, enough painkillers to knock out an elephant, Doritos I didn't intend to share, and Dean's last minute requests. If Dean wanted something else, he'd have to get it himself, because nothing short of nuclear holocaust was going to pressure me out of my crappy, Super 8 motel room once I sat back down.

The Winchesters' door was still unlocked by the time I'd meandered up the sidewalk -- the security latch keeping it propped open. After a year of on and off gigs, we weren't really in the habit of knocking anymore, but I still made a lot of noise barging in. You know, as a courtesy.

"Listen. The only beer they had that I didn't feel ashamed buyin’ was Heineken," I called, letting my butt lead the way since my hands were full. "So, you can drink that or you can drive down to the Liquor Barn an-- Whoa."

Turning around was being transported into a cyclone. It didn't look like there'd just been a struggle. It was an annihilation. Not a single thing had been left unturned. The standing lamp was pitched on top of the bed, sheets and pillows were shoved and shredded. Sam's laptop was still in one piece, but the sandwich he'd been eating lay scattered on the carpet. The bag of Cheetos Dean had sneered at had exploded into a large, neon mess.The microwave had bungee jumped off the counter and hung by its cord,  an inch of the ground. Clothing was everywhere. It was hard to figure out where to look first -- there was so much upheaval and very little clean space. Except in the middle of the room. In the one bit of open, tacky motel carpet was...

_ Castiel _ . So very beige and perplexed -- palms out in the universal symbol for: "I don't know. Don't ask me."

_ Clunk _ . I let the bags drop, reaching back to fumble the door closed and click the lock. The last thing we needed was for nosey neighbors to call this in to the front desk.

"I did  _ not _ do this," Cas said firmly. The microwave finally gave way, emphasizing his final gesture with the reassuring sound of broken glass.

"I didn't think you did," I said.

I didn't blame him for clarifying, though. The angel and I hadn't worked too many cases together. We had an awkward, if not cordial, acquaintanceship that seemed to suit us just fine. He seemed way more comfortable when it was just Sam and Dean. That was natural. Unfortunately for us, they were both conspicuously absent.

"I was gone for like,  _ maybe _ twenty minutes," I said, still skimming the room in disbelief. There was a knife in my boot, but something told me the threat was long gone. "Where's everyone else? Where's Dean? Or Sam? Did you see them?"

Castiel cleared his throat -- head dipped down and mouth in a thin line. He didn't seem to trust himself to answer, but his eyes flicked past me. Once, twice. By the time he started to make some noises, I’d tuned him out. The overturned chair by the window was infinitely more interesting.

"There was a minor disturbance..." Cas began.

"That's a cat. Why is there a cat in here?" I interrupted. 

There  _ was _ a cat. A very large cat, actually. It had to be at least twenty pounds, a veritable storm cloud of fur and the oddest amber eyes. Those eyes were watching us -- intense, focused into slits. When the carpet crunched under my feet, it's two tufted ears swiveled around to catch every detail.

The hotel was definitely a cat free zone when I'd left.

"I was saying..." Cas glanced up to make sure he had my open-mouthed, befuddled attention. "There was a minor disturbance an--" The cat growled then, low and dissenting. Cas huffed in response. If angels could huff. It sounded a lot like a huff. "Fine. Have it your way. A  _ major _ disturbance. I'm not going to argue over details. She just needs to know--"

My brain was finally catching up. Somewhere around the microwave dropping and watching that big, fluffy head turn in an almost human-like gesture, everything snapped into place.

"Cas, who is that cat?!" I demanded, jabbing a finger at it's cute, feline face. " _ Who is it _ ?"

_ Please don’t say the Winchesters. Please don’t say the Winchesters. _

"Sam Winchester," answered Cas. He didn’t seem to like it much easier. It came out of his mouth in one bitter spit. "I promise... They were like this when I got here. I wish I knew more, but I only saw the tail end.” He paused. “Pun not intended."

Normally, I'd have laughed. Puns were the height of angel comedy (or so I’d been told), but I was too busy collecting Sam into a reluctant bundle to humor Cas. I was also still trying to wrap my mind around that this adorable, fuzzy monster was the six foot four behemoth I’d shared Cheerios with over breakfast. The longer I held him, the more he melted into his own fur. Just one large, ridiculous marshmallow of a cat. Sam let out a plaintive  _ mew _ at my manhandling-- ears back and paws out. We stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed. If it weren't for the innate intelligence lurking behind those knife-edge pupils, Sam really would have looked like any other cat. Pink nose, crazy whiskers, and jelly bean toes. 

But it  _ was _ Sam. His fur was the same nut brown as his hair, and the slope of his jaw was a bizarre feline mimic of his natural face. It worked out well. Sam could have passed for a mixed Maine Coon -- large, strong, and ridiculously handsome. 

“This is fucked up,” I muttered. 

“ _ Mreow _ ,” agreed Sam.

“Witch, right? It was the witch.”

“ _ Mew _ .”

“Can you… understand him?” asked Cas.

“Oh, uh. No. Well... No.” I turned back to Castiel, stammering a little. I’d always been a bit of a cat person, so talking to a fuzzy face was almost compulsory. “Where’s, uh-- Where’s Dean?”

"Under the bed," said Cas.

"Is he hurt?" I asked.

“No, I--  _ Ergh _ .” Cas fumbled as I dumped Sam on him -- claws scraping on trench coat.

It was hard to find a good spot to start crawling around, but at least Dean’s bed was less torn up than Sam’s. Shoving the duvet out of the way made it easier to belly crawl and fish my cell phone out at the same time. It was a great hiding place -- dark, cool, well protected. I turned the light towards the far corner of the mattress. Laser eyes reflected back. 

“Well. Hey there, little buddy,” I said, unable to suppress a tiny giggle.

Dean wasn’t amused. He growled, tongue working over his front teeth. It was kind of difficult to tell with him smashed against the wall, but he was definitely smaller than his brother. He could have been an Abyssinian. Or maybe just some lucky tom cat -- a mass of short, ticked fur and dainty paws. He’d have looked gangly if his body weren’t so compact. 

“Dean, it’s just Cas and me. You can come out.”

"Do you know what you're doing?" asked Cas. He had Sam's wiggling body at arm's length. Neither of them seemed comfortable.

"If you're asking if I've had cats, then yes. I've had cats," I replied. "Have I had belligerent, previously human cats? Then no. I have not." 

No amount of coaxing was going to budge Dean, though. His tail went double time, slapping hard against the carpet. Maybe he didn’t understand me. Maybe he was still confused from the spell. ...Maybe he was just being a cat. If what happened to the Winchesters had just happened to me, I might want to hide under a bed, too.

"Dean... Please. Don't make me come in there,” I pleaded. There was no response from Dean other than a garbled yowl. I tried to shuffle forward to scruff him, but claws flashed. “Ow! Cas, are you sure there’s just two cats in here, because _ this one  _ is trying to--” He missed my hand second time, but showed his needlepoint fangs. “Don’t you DARE bite me, you little shit!”

"No, I'm certain that's Dean," said Cas.

“ _ Yrrrrrrrrr _ ,” rumbled Dean.

“Awesome,” I huffed.

I was going to have to go back to the In-n-Out.

...

 

Two oven mitts and one ratty blanket later, Castiel could finally get a good look at his unfortunate friends. Dean had come out fighting, so I’d wrapped him up like a hostile burrito until he calmed down. I’d like to say I didn’t enjoy it, but I did. He’d gotten a good swipe at me. He  _ deserved _ the purr-ito. 

At least Sam was cooperative. He sat on Dean’s bed looking like the saddest powder puff in existence. I reached out and started scratching behind his ears without even realizing I was doing it. He gave me a look of disdain only a cat could manage.

“Sorry. You’re just really cute,” I said.

“You are  _ fairly c _ ertain your witch did this?” asked Cas. “This is…” He grimaced at the wiggling cat log that was Dean. “Advanced configuration.”

“Can you reverse it?” I asked. 

“I think so,” Cas said. He didn’t look as certain as he sounded. “But I need to check on a few things. You’ll need to find this witch. And give me any of the information you already have.”

That was a short stack. To Castiel’s credit, he didn’t comment. Just glanced at me as if to wonder what the hell the three of us had been wasting our time on.

“I’ll try to find more. Whoever they are, they know how to lay low,” I said. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something,” said Cas generously. I gave him a tentative smile. I wasn’t sure I’d ever gotten a semi-compliment from Castiel before, but the sentiment was kind of dampened by Dean’s pathetic mewing. “Will it be alright if I leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I nodded with way more enthusiasm than I felt. “We’ll be fine. I’ll, uh, let you know if I need anything.”

“Keep them in,” said Cas. “In case the spell is temporary. Or the nature of it changes.”

“Preachin’ to the choir,” I replied. It might not have been the best expression, because Cas squinted at me for a moment -- evaluating. “Just, uh… Be careful, okay? I like cats, but I’m not the Humane Society. Let’s not add a third.”

Cas swallowed hard, watching Sam's tail twitch. 

“Same to you,” he said.

Then he was gone.   
  



	2. Stray Cat Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Research and the kitty Winchesters bring you closer to finding the identity of the witch.

If the hotel manager (his nametag read "Rick”) looked down my blouse one more time, I was going to smash his face into the countertop. It’d mess up his overbite and pornstache, but I didn’t care. I’d spent all morning talking to bereaved parents and following leads. I was not in the mood for anything other than three fingers of bourbon and revenge. 

"So, you wanna cancel the double full and keep the kings?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Was there somethin' wrong with the room?" Rick asked. He seemed kind of incredulous. Like a mouse-sized cockroach wasn’t totally just chilling on the wall behind him. Not that I was used to staying anyplace fancy, but it was usually a concern when the bugs were bigger than my shoe.

"No. I just don't need the room anymore," I said.  _ And it's none of your business, Rick. _

The real explanation was a lot more complicated than roaches or a stopped up shower drain. It boiled down to the fact that when two, large men are changed into your everyday domestic tabby cat, they don't exactly need a whole room to themselves. Rick definitely didn't need to know that. The Super 8 was not pet friendly, and I didn’t think Sam or Dean would appreciate me boarding them at the local veterinary clinic if I got kicked out.

"Alrighty. Well, then..."

I watched as Rick drew up a bill -- tacking fees on at every available turn. Oh yeah. Rick's kisser was going to make acquaintance with some linoleum before we left town. At least I didn't have to worry too much about money. I'd raided Dean's wallet that morning while he tried to use my leg as a scratching post. Fair was fair. I needed to feed myself  _ and  _ them, since neither of the Itty Bitty Kitty Committee would touch the regular cat food Castiel had brought. That meant a raw diet, which was pricier. And, lets face it, McDonalds gets old.

"What happened to those two big guys you was with?" asked Rick suddenly. "The tall one and the pretty boy?"

_ I'm gunna tell Dean you said that, Rick. Enjoy those last three teeth while you still can, _ I thought peevishly.

"You mean my cousins? Oh, well. One of them had to go home," I lied. Mr. Peeps-A-Lot didn't need to know I was essentially alone in the hotel room. I handed over my credit card quickly, wanting to expedite the process.

"Uh huh," grunted Rick. He gave my outfit one more sweeping glance before passing back a receipt. It was just an A-line skirt with a blue button-up, but you'd have thought I was spinning nipple tassels. I frowned at him -- disapproving. Rick didn’t seem to notice. "You have a nice day."

"Thanks."

Once I was out of the lobby and into the crisp, summer sunlight, I dug my cellphone back out of my purse. I'd called Bobby on my way back and had to leave him hanging while I cancelled the second room. I’d thought I’d put him on mute, but the gruff chuckling on the other end of the line told me otherwise.

“Cousins,” snorted Bobby.

“Whatever. I’m just minimizing problems,” I said, fumbling with the keycard to the room. Luckily, I didn’t see any evidence the boys had been sneaking looks out the front window. The curtains were exactly how they’d been when I’d left. We’d definitely have a problem if someone told Rick I had cats. “So, you got the pics, then? Of the hex bags?”

“Yeah. I got ‘em,” said Bobby. “And I don’t like ‘em.”

“Join the cl-- Hello! Get back! Get back!”

Starved for information, Dean and Sam were on me the moment I opened the door. I could only imagine the verbal tirade that would be happening if they had the right vocal cords. For now, they had to settle for meowing loudly at my feet. Or that was enough for Sam. Dean gave my ankle a chomp when I tried to shoo him away.

“OW! I will put you in Kitty Jail, I swear to god!” I threatened. It probably wasn’t very scary. ‘Kitty Jail’ was really just the bathroom. “Let me get in the damn door!”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Boys aren’t holdin’ up so good?”

“They’re fine. Just, you know… Impatient,” I muttered.

That wasn’t totally true. The first day or so, it was easy to tell something was off about these fuzzy felines. They didn’t really  _ act _ like felines. Sam could type out full sentences on the laptop, and they used the toilet (to my utter relief) like civilized human/cat hybrids. As time dragged on, though, they were losing a little bit of what still marked them as human. What made them Sam and Dean. It was a slow progression, but it was happening.

They’d started to purr, yowl, and nap in the sun just like normal cats. The first time I caught Sam grooming himself, he seemed confused and then hid under the bed for an hour. Dean kept hunting cockroaches and leaving them on my pillow. It was unnerving.

The behavior. Not the cockroaches. They were usually dead. Bobby didn’t need to know about any of that, though. I was still hopeful that everyone would have opposable thumbs soon enough. 

At least before I had to invest in a litter box.

“Well, I can tell ya’ those are some heavy duty hex bags. And the bones are human. Too small to be adults,” Bobby continued. I put him on speakerphone so the Winchesters could listen -- throwing it on top of the stack of photos and documents I’d printed at Walgreens for research. They’d been shoved in my bag all day, meaning they were a little mussed. “So, I reckon y’all were on the right track with those missin’ kids. Sad as it is to say. Probably got too close for comfort. Now here we are.”

“Figured,” I said. “But I’ve talked to the parents, been to the school… I can’t figure out how they all connect. Other than two of them volunteered at the local animal shelter. So, I went there, too. Quiet kids. Not much to go on.”

Sam’s laptop booted up easy and I plugged in the password. I’d have used my own, but Sam had more resources compiled electronically. Also, he just had the nicer computer. It almost made me reconsider my policy on gambling rings and credit card fraud.

While I was pulling up email, Sam crawled into my lap to watch my progress. Or maybe just make sure I didn’t start rooting through his hard drive. Either way, he was a warm, welcome presence. I scratched idly under his chin. A couple days ago, he would have been offended, but now he was starting to purr.

“I sent ya’ what I could find. Dug back to the 1950s, too. Probably could have gone farther, but then we’re gettin’ into old news reels. You’ll probably have to go to the library or town hall for that,” said Bobby.

Dean was sniffing around the phone. It looked like he might succumb to a cat’s greatest pleasure -- knocking stuff onto the floor -- so I shoved him away. His claws skittered across the table and he landed with a great _ thump  _ on the floor.

“You’re sayin’ there’s a pattern, then?”

“You bet your ass. It’s definitely someone who has roots there. They come back every decade or so. Guess even witches gotta have a hometown,” said Bobby. “Wish I could help you more, Kid. That’s all I got right now.”

“You’re a big help, Bobby,” I said. “I feel stupid about my progress, but I’m just one person. It’s taking me forever to--”  _ Scuff. Scuff.. scuff scuff. _ Dean had made it back onto the table and was nudging the phone with his paw. We locked eyes when I looked up, but that didn’t stop him. He gave the phone another push. “You think I don’t see you? I see you. Don’t you break my phone.”

“What the hell is goin’ on over there?” asked Bobby.

It didn’t seem like Dean even knew what he was doing. He was staring me right in the face -- eyes big as saucers -- but his paw kept moving of its own accord.  _ Scuff. Scuff scuff. _ I lunged just as the phone went off the table, sending all my documents flying across the floor.

“Goddamn it, Dean! You are a BAD CAT!” I huffed as Dean’s fluffy bottom disappeared under the bed. At least Bobby was still on the line.

“Dean makin’ trouble?” Bobby asked.

Really? Dean’s behavior scared me more than it annoyed me. In some ways, he seemed to be succumbing faster than Sam, who was indignantly grooming himself after being tossed out of my lap. He sat in the middle of Dean’s mess, shedding all over the glossy pages. I tried to shoo him off, but his big butt was glued.

“What? Yeah,” I lied. “Just, you know, gotta express his displeasure somehow.”

“You need me to come up there?” asked Bobby. “You’re doin’ a two man job. Alone. And you’re kinda… pint sized.”

“Thanks, but I got it, Bobby,” I insisted. “And it’s not just me. There’s an angel on my shoulder, too.”

“No. I’m standing behind you,” said Cas.

The waterfall of expletives coming out of my mouth didn’t stop until I turned around. Castiel was about two inches away -- furrowed brow and brown bag in hand. At least he tempted Dean out from under the bed. The cat choir had started again, but I knew Cas was getting more out of it than I was. Or he seemed to, anyway. Whatever Sam was yowling about, Cas was nodding in response. It gave me time to slow my heartbeat back down from gerbil to human.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. You call if you need anything,” said Bobby before hanging up.

Once off the phone, I filled Cas in. It was a fairly short conversation. There just wasn’t much to report. Musing quietly to himself, Cas finally handed me the bag he’d been carrying. It was slightly wet at the bottom. I glanced at him -- questioning.

“You may want to put that in the refrigerator,” said Cas.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Crocodile heart.”

“You killed a fuckin’ crocodile?” Probably could have kept some of the edge out of my voice.

“It was already dead,” Cas replied -- nonplussed. “The spell didn’t specify whether we needed a fresh heart.”

“Christ on a cracker. Okay, Harry Potter. What’s next?” I muttered. The heart went into the mini-fridge. I’d have put money down that it wasn’t the strangest thing that fridge had seen, either. “We just got a couple more things for the reversal spell, right?”

“Yes,” said Cas. His eyes rolled over to where Dean and Sam were sitting pretty on the bed. Their ears went back in tandem. “I’m sorry, but we’ll need hair from both of them.”

“Let me get my scissors.”

That was all it took. The Winchesters were gone in a blur of fur and fear -- tearing around the room to find a good place to hide. Cabinets banged. The shower curtain clattered. Cas and I stared at each other with expressions of equal annoyance.

“We should have expected that,” I said.

“You’re right,” Cas sighed.

“I’ll go get the fuckin’ oven mitts…”

They weren’t much help, though. It was a battle to find them, and a battle to peel them away from wherever they’d found sanctuary. We ended up with Cas holding them awkwardly under their kitty armpits -- just the right angle for them to try to bunny kick me in the face. Sam was easier, because I didn’t have to get too close to get a hunk of him. There was plenty of hair to go around. Dean was a different story.

“Hold him still, okay?” I pleaded with Cas. I had the scissors from my sewing kit in one hand, and they weren’t wimpy. They did double duty during hunts and I didn’t think Dean wanted to experience a trip to the emergency vet. “This’ll take like, two seconds, Dean. What is  _ wrong _ with you two? Don’t you wanna be human again? Help me out here!”   


That was not on Dean’s “To Do” list. He let out a garbled, hissing growl and eyed the scissors suspiciously. Castiel’s weird cat wrangling kept him from biting me, but those back claws were powerful.

“Is he even saying anything?” I asked. Maybe we just needed to change our approach.

“No. It’s exactly as it sounds,” said Cas.

“Does he know what  _ I’m  _ saying?”

“I don’t think so.”

That sobered me both up a bit. I’d have felt better if Dean were actually cursing me out. Knowing he was reacting purely on newfound feline instinct didn’t make me feel any better about the whole situation. Despondence set in. We regarded each other for a moment -- scissors still and Dean’s eyes wide.

That’s when I saw it.

“Hey. What… What is that?” I murmured. “Hold him, Cas.”

Cas didn’t really do anything different, but Dean had stopped squirming enough that I was able to reach forward and smooth out the fur on his chest. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but he had some white markings mixed in with his tabby pattern. The more I studied it, the quicker I realized… 

His anti-possession tattoo!

Sloppy and hard to see, but definitely there. Branded into Dean’s fur like a tiger stripes. I turned to find Sam on the table, slapping around some of the pictures I’d taken at the animal shelter and school grounds. Scooping him up, I held him out for Cas to see.

“ _ Mew _ ,” Sam protested.

“Look! Their tattoos! They kept some of their distinguishing marks. I wouldn’t have noticed except…” Sam got dumped on the bed. He was really getting that disdainful cat gimmick down. “Look at these pictures!” If Cas was put off by the sudden explosion of enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. Stowing Dean under his arm, he perused the photos I held in front of his face with his usual quiet intensity. “You can’t really see them that well, but there were four cats that looked like they were wearing glasses. You know? The markings! I noticed them, because… Well, it looked like they were wearing glasses. That’s adorable.”

“I see,” Cas confirmed.

“You know who else wears glasses?” I asked -- triumphant. The fliers were switched around. Cas had to lean back to avoid getting smacked in the face. “Missing children!”

The little happy dance I did would have been more embarrassing if I wasn’t running off little sleep and too much caffeine. I’d also probably have refrained, given that dancing was kind of inappropriate after uttering the phrase: “missing children.”

“The witch unintentionally left us their calling card when they turned Dean and Sam into cats,” said Cas -- matter of fact. 

“Yes, they did! They fucked up big time,” I crowed. “God, I love it when they do that!”

Dean had been flopped around so much he didn’t even have time to react before I’d pulled him out of Cas’s arms and snuggled him against my neck. At least he was generous enough to keep his claws to himself, even when I lavished his furry face with thankful kisses. Maybe he was happy about the breakthrough, too.

“We’re gunna get you thumbs again, Winchester!” I said.

“ _ Yrrroooow _ ,” said Dean.

_ Snip snip _ . The sound of scissors punctuated the end of Dean’s sentiment.

I don’t know who was more surprised -- Castiel, Dean, or me. Castiel had seen an opportunity and taken it, shearing off a good half inch of fur from Dean’s backside while he was being cuddled. Scissors in one hand, hairball in the other, Cas watched as his friend started to realize he was feeling a draft. I let Dean drop. No more kitty kisses for Dean. Especially not that close to my jugular.

“Holy shit, Cas,” I snickered, getting a good look at Dean’s new hairdo.

Unlike the straight lock I’d gotten off Sam, Cas had to cut closer to the skin get a decent amount of hair from Dean. It ran an odd, splotchy line along his haunches -- making him look a bit mangy. Didn’t help that it was so close to his butt. Twisting on his side gave Dean a clear view of Castiel’s grooming ability (or lack of). He pegged us both with a look of sheer contempt, ears back and growling low in his throat.

“You didn’t give us much of a choice,” said Cas to Dean. “Maybe you’ll think about that next time.”

The sounds coming out of Sam could have either been a sneeze or laughter.

“Can you understand him now?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Cas. Dean spat out a reply. Cas cleared his throat. “It doesn’t translate well.”

“Hey. You be nice, Mister,” I told Dean. “You’re smaller than me for once, and I still remember when you switched my toothpaste with Bengay. Yeah. Not funny. Your move.”

That shut up him. Dean retired to the privacy of my pillow to reluctantly groom himself. No amount of licking was going to cover up that bald spot, though.

“You’ll need to go back to the shelter and collect fur from the cats you think are children,” Cas said after a moment of watching Sam walk all over the laptop keyboard. “Or bring them here.”

“Probably bring them here. I mean, who knows how many have already gone through there, or what happens to them once they’re in. Can’t just leave ‘em,” I said, frowning. “Fuck. I can’t just apply for a dozen adoptions. They’ll know something’s up. I’m gunna have to smuggle out a bunch of cats. I’m gunna have a ton of cats in here, aren’t I?”

For one brief, shining moment, Castiel actually looked sorry for me. It was short lived, though. We surveyed the room -- one clinical and the other sulky. It was hard to keep Sam and Dean from destroying the hotel room. Couldn’t imagine what a bunch of pre-teens turned kittens would do. 

Rick was gunna be so mad.

“Well, you could say you’re a…” Cas’s mouth folded up at the side. It took me a second to realize he was proud of himself. Of whatever he was going to say next. “Cat burglar.”

“Really?” I asked. “Really? Okay. You’ve been spending too much time with Dean.” Couldn’t help the barely suppressed giggles, though. “Damn it, Cas. Good one. ... _ Cat burglar _ .”

“Cat burglar,” Cas parroted -- softer. _ I’m funny _ , said his expression.

There wasn’t enough bourbon in the whole state of Kentucky to cover this fiasco, and it looked like I was heading back to the animal shelter in the morning. If you had told me this was what I’d be doing five years ago, I’d have laughed in your face. Now I was laughing at bad angel jokes.

_ Fucking angels. _ I sighed.  _ Fucking Rick. _

_ Fucking cats.  _


End file.
